


The Way the World Ended

by The_Otter_Knight



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Role Reversal, Seizures, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Telepath Newt, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Trigger Thomas, maybe not, medically induced coma, no teresa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Otter_Knight/pseuds/The_Otter_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt lived his life like everybody else in the Glade - slowly, his own hope had started to dwindle as time went on. But then a boy shows up in the Glade, with a message clutched tight in his hand. <i>He is the last one. Ever.</i> Which is ominous enough, thank you very much. That wasn't the only problem, though. The mysterious coma boy could talk into Newt's head. Well, Newt wasn't expecting <i>that.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Betaread by [MistyRayneFallsOTP](http://www.mistyraynefallsotp.tumblr.com).
> 
> I don't even know why I even wrote this, I'm so sorry. Have this AU that nobody wanted.  
>  ~~Will I continue this? No one knows.~~
> 
> Role reversal:  
> Newt as Thomas' role (the telepath who figures out the code)  
> Thomas as Teresa' role (the trigger)

Box Day wasn't something that someone always celebrated. He could feel something like fire pour through his veins at the thought of the day. Not everybody liked Box Day - in fact, some enjoyed it a lot. It was, by tradition, the day that you arrived in the Glade. Newt hated it with every fibre of his being, and in fact dreaded it when his own Box Day came around. Some people latched onto it, because it was the closest thing they had to actual birthdays - whisps of memories that echo in the back of their heads of days long past.

The point was, Newt didn't like Box Day. It reminded him that there was no hope, that they weren't getting out. He was reminded of this every day a new greenie stepped into the Glade, lost and confused. As second in command, it was his duty to pull them up and out, descending a ladder and helping them along until they could stand on their own two feet, so to speak. No wonder the other Gladers named him "mother of the Glade". They were due for another greenie any day now.

Newt picks at the stone at his feet, digging his fingers beneath the rock and hefted it away. Track hoeing; it was dirty work - his fingernails were never clean, always caked with dirt and bruised, a constant ache in his fingers and along his palms, but it at least took his mind off of his _other_ aches and pains. The tedious and repetitive work kept his mind from wandering too far, to remind him to breathe.  _You get lazy, you get sad. Start giving up. Plain and simple._ A repeated speech he told anyone who would listen, who wandered too far from the straight and narrow path to living.

His movements wavered slightly, and he lowers his gaze to his wrist, looking past his bronzed skin to look at the standard metallic clock, stark numbers flashing up at him in lazy pulses. The runners still had a couple hours to return, yet. He scoffs lightly to himself, thinking of how fortunate he had been to have jumped that day - to have gotten that limp. He doesn't think he could have handled being a runner for long, the hopelessness seeping into his bones and crowding his mind. The few days he had run the maze, the more he had come to accept the fact that there was nothing for them, that there was no way out. They were shucked for good. Left to be hamsters in a cage, so to speak.

He hadn't been aware of his thoughts derailing like that, hadn't noticed his movements slowing, until one of the other Gladers - a pale and sarcastic raven-haired boy named Louis - tossed a rock at his thigh. Newt's eyes flicker up, and he peers from beneath his lashes at the boy in question, who grins sheepishly at him and offers a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe you should take a break, boss," the younger boy says, wiping his hand across his brow and smearing dirt across his face. "Your mind is all over the place." He makes some sort of weird hand gesture that the second in command could barely follow, before sheepishly smiling. "Just a suggestion, sir."

"I'm not a sir to you, Louis," he objects, his hands finding their way to his forehead in exasperation as he rakes his hair back. "Not your bloody boss neither. We're equals, y'hear?" He was completely earnest in this comment.

Louis' smile widens and he nods, "Whatever you say,  _boss."_

Newt rolls his eyes at the younger's comments. Sometimes some of the younger kids were just so .. well, whatever that was. Instead of reprimanding the boy, he asks for a hoe and begins to plough through the soil, frowning despite himself. He's getting a decent groove through the dirt when a loud blaring fills the air, and his joints stiffen, surprise racing through him at first - not at the fact that it sounded at all, but because of the sound itself. Louis and the other track hoes stop what they're doing, their eyes widening and their facial features thinning into a schooled expression. Newt stands back up, his back cracking all the while and he sets aside the hoe while a few of the others begin to run for the box. He can imagine the grinding of metals, the slow creak and groan of metal as the box unhinged itself ... shaking himself, he begins to wander over, his limp momentarily forgotten as he makes his way over.

People are already beginning to huddle around the box's entrance, a red signal light flashing from above, shining it's eerie glow around, signalling that the box was on it's way up. The sound was still deafening, especially up close, but he tried to pay little attention to it. You get used to it a year or two later. He sees a couple of the builders drag a rope ladder over towards where the grating would open. There's an almost distant sound of something moving, like bookshelves being moved, and the gate opens up to the black abyss of the box, carved deep into the ground. Newt excuses himself, gently pushing aside a couple Gladers to approach the lip of the bin.

Alby is already there, peering down, the distinct smell of pigs and some kind of herbs waft up, as well as a sickly, coppery scent. Their rope ladder is thrown over the side. "Oh," he hears the almost-leader mutter in surprise, his dark brows furrowing as he takes a step back, looking around in confusion at the other Gladers.

Everybody begins the static chatter that they always begin when someone new enters;

"Hope you enjoyed the ride."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

"Smells like _feet_ down there!"

But then a surprised murmur ripples through them and when Newt finally reaches Alby's side, sending half-annoyed looks at everyone else, he realizes why they seemed so shocked. Peering down into the near-darkness of the cage, he can clearly see a boy there, half-crouched half-laying there. It's hard to detail his features accurately with the dim lighting, because of the pale shadows that stretched below. Newt could see the pale stretch of skin, could see dark, expressive eyes and dark hair. But, still ... the box wasn't usually this late, he realizes as he checks his runner's watch - and something seemed definitely wrong with the kid.

"He's barely moved," Alby mutters, and Newt frowns in concern. "I think I saw him breathe, though." The blond peers over the edge again, noticing the boy down below shift his head just enough so that it looks like he's looking up. "Hey, greenie, if you can hear me, you better move," Alby jerks his fingers, and there's a slightly scuffle down below. Newt squints, hearing the greenbean offer a groan as a reply.

"I don't think he's okay," he finds himself saying, and Alby nods in consideration. The Keeper of the Builders, Gally, leaps down and after a couple moments of tenseness, asks for Clint and Jeff. It's awkward, angling the greenie up, because apparently he couldn't manage up the rope ladder himself. It becomes apparent why when the greenie lays there, on the ground, breathing uneven and almost quiet. It's easier to see his face now - well structured and with a glossy sheen of sweat, almost like he was trying to break a fever. He's slightly pale, with a rosy flush to his lips and cheeks, with defined eyebrows - nothing like Gally's thinly arched eyebrows, of course - and a scattering of moles and freckles across his face. His eyes are glazed over, half-lidded and confused, locks of dark brown hair falling across his brow, some of it being matted to his skull. There's a slick sheen of red blood across his face, apparently from a head wound that Newt couldn't see. He's hunched in a fetal position, hands clenched close to his chest. Newt would've figured him as attractive if he didn't look half-dead, then he realized he shouldn't think that about people in those situations so he ended that train of thought right away. However, there was something almost ... familiar about him, but when he tried to focus on that feeling, it slid between his fingers. It was probably nothing.

The familiar bodies of Clint and Jeff approach the greenie, tilting his head this way and that, inspecting the damage. "Concussed, most likely," Jeff concludes, looking over at Newt and Alby. In all their time spent at the Glade - a total of three years - they hadn't had anybody who had seemingly knocked themselves out while coming up in the box.

"Hey, greenie," Newt's voice is gentle as he kneels down next to the boy, and watches in surprise when the greenie's eyes flicker up to him, a startling clear brown, despite the haze that filmed over. The younger boy seemed fairly perceptive even when he seemed ready to pass out. "You might not understand me right now, but you're safe and among friends. Our medjacks are going to fix you up nice and good, ya hear? We'll talk more when you wake up, got that?"

A groan leaves the boy's lips, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head, unfamiliar speech reaching Newt's ears.  _Who are you?_

That's an easy question that Newt can answer. "I'm Newt, that's Alby," he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the brown-toned teenager behind him, "and Clint and Jeff are the medjacks who will watch over you. Good that?" He smiles in what he hopes to be a reassuring manner. He can feel Alby's inquisitive look, but ignores him. "I'll check on you every couple days to see how you're doing, okay? Don't die on us."

There's something almost like a laugh but then the boy collapses, his breath leaving his lips, and it almost looks like he's sleeping, but then his body spasms in a horrific way. Newt leaps back and Jeff and Clint are on the boy in an instant, pinning his limbs down and moving his head to the side when loud choking noises sounded. "He's having a seizure, everybody back up!" Clint shouts and instantly everybody steers clear, with Alby and Newt hovering nearby in worry. It's terrifying to watch, seeing the nameless boy shiver and shake, spit coming from his mouth until suddenly it dies down, and he's left breathing heavily, completely passed out. "It's likely a result from the concussion," he adds, checking the boy's vitals.

"Can we put him into a coma so any possible brain swelling goes down?" Jeff asks carefully, pronouncing each word slowly, looking up at Alby for permission, who seems to consider it before nodding curtly.

Newt hears Clint object, somewhere off to the sidelines, "We're not supposed to let concussed people sleep, you shank," but Jeff waves off the suggestion. Well, they'd come to a consensus soon enough, Newt hoped. He knew next to nothing about medical training, so he didn't know what was best in this situation.

"Try to put some distance between him and Ben," Alby suggests and some nearby people cringe at the mention of the builder. "We don't need the poor guy waking up to screaming and stressing himself out."

"Hey, what's that?" somebody calls out, pointing. Everybody's attention shifts, except for the medjacks, who are focused on making sure that the brown-haired boy doesn't have a relapse. Newt is only aware of the position the boy's hand is in afterwards, slightly awkward in the way that it was raised compared to his other arm. His fingers are clenched tightly, and there's a sheen of white beneath his knuckles. It's Gally who approaches, brows furrowed in confusion but determination and pries it from the boy's grasp.

"It's a note," he says, but then stops, not bothering to explain what it is or what it means, although it's obvious that he looks very worried. Wordlessly, he passes it to Newt, who was closer to him.

"He is the last one. Ever." He reads the words out. There's a stilted silence, surprise running through them. There's no outcry, no protests, just a stunned whisper among the Gladers. This was the first time they held  _actual_ contact with someone outside of the Glade. But the message was very ominous.. Newt crumples the note in his hand, frowning as he watches the medjacks cart the unconscious boy off towards the infirmary.

 _Who are you? What have you done?_ He wonders, shaking his head.

Newt could feel something rise in his chest. If whoever sent them here decided to end ... whatever this was, what did it mean for them? Will they all be killed off? Will they face some sort of impossible task? Newt decides that even though there was glimmer of hope in that thought, he very much hated Box Day and the sudden probabilities that this newbie brought.

And somewhere, in the dark recesses of his mind, he could have sworn he heard a quiet whisper of  _I'm sorry._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Alby agree to hold a Gathering the next day but not everybody seems to like the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread by [MistyRayneFallsOTP](http://www.mistyraynefallsotp.tumblr.com). (:
> 
> The characters listed below were only created for the purposes to fill roles.
> 
> Louis- named after Louis Pasteur - track hoe  
> Monroe - named after Marilyn Monroe - Keeper of the Baggers (described to look like Simon from LOTF)  
> Vince - Vincent Van Gogh - Keeper of the Sloppers  
> Kris - Christopher Columbus - Keeper of the Bricknicks (described to look like Leonardo di Caprio)
> 
> I hate this chapter with a passion but it was necessary to get the plot moving, kind of.

His fingers tap against his thigh, worry seeping into his bones like the plague. No one dared breathe for a moment - the ominous note was still clenched tightly in his fist, and he was sure that his expression was disbelieving. Why would the Creators dare talk to them now? What made them doubt themselves so much as to destroy what they had? To destroy their new home? Newt unclenches his jaw, and runs one of his dirt-covered hands through his hair, feeling it smooth back into place despite him running his hands through it repeatedly.

"This is bloody stressful," he murmurs to no one in particular, and he can hear an answering cry of agreement. "Thanks, thanks a lot for making everything so _shucking obvious._ " He would've flipped off the sky if he was certain that they'd see it and if it'd do any good. So, instead, he sighs and shoves the note into his pocket, wiping his palms along the fabric. "Alby, 're we going to hold a Gathering?" he asks with a sigh, running a hand down his face.

Alby turns to him, in all of his broad-shouldered dark-skinned glory, and for once, Newt realizes that maybe this is the most he's ever seen him concerned. "Right. We better wait for Minho to get back, though," he says, seriously, mouth thinning into a line.

Newt pauses to consider the leader's words before shaking his head, "Chances are, he'll chance upon the kid when he checks up on Ben, depending on where they place him."

Alby looks more concerned at that exclamation, "Right. We'll have to keep an eye on Ben - who knows what he can do, when going through the changing." He rubs his hand along his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose. "Why today?" he sighs, more air than actual words.

"Guess the Creators thought it'd be funny," Newt shrugs, even though he feels unease prick at him. "Should I get someone on watching the two? Make sure they don't jump at each other's throats?" he asks, trying for a bit of humour, although his voice gives way and he ends up sounding much more serious that he originally intended. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Not in that boy's state; he can barely walk, by the looks of it," Alby considers, before shooting the blond an apologetic look. "Sorry."  _He can remember the crippling pain that ran through him, the horror when he woke up and saw his ankle twisted at that horrible, horrible angle and -_ he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"S'okay. I'll get Adam to watch over Ben," he replies. Alby's eyes are trained on him, unwavering before he nods, carefully. "Not that he really needs to be looked after - likely Clint or Jeff will be there. Not everybody who goes through the Changing are violent, Alby." He thinks of Gally then, who has since become nothing but distant, who often wore a resigned expression, who barely expressed any surprise at the arrival of the new greenie, but rather contempt. But still, he had since become hard-headed, and normally, Newt would worry and fuss over him, but right now, there was more pressing matters. The point was, the Changing effected everyone differently, not at all always the same. He was thankful that he never had to experience it.

"Don't wear yourself out thinking about this, Newt," his companion sighs. "Maybe it's a test or something - just to see how we react to it. I don't know, maybe they messed up something." He offers a shrug, seemingly tossing out ideas. He squints up at the sun, raising a hand to his brow and adding, "Let me know when Minho gets here and then we'll talk more about this Gathering. Good that?"

"Good that." Newt nods. He tries to ignore how heavy the note feels in his pocket, and decides to get rid of it or place it in a safe place sometime later. Maybe if he thought less of it, it'd make his head hurt less. "I'll see you then," he nods curtly and turns to jog away, intending to mention it to the other Keepers when he could. He found his thoughts straying back to that mysterious boy, who had arrived more dead than alive with that devastating note and dazed, dark eyes. There was something familiar in his eyes, something that had changed when he had first seen Newt. Even though he was unfocused, there was a raw curiosity in his eyes when he looked at the blond boy, although it had since grown dim with the haze of unconsciousness and the struggle to stay awake. Still, there was something odd about the situation - about the boy, something almost familiar, an echo of something whispering at the back of his head.

"Hey, Newt, what's the deal with the greenie?" He looks over, his footsteps stumbling until he regains his balance. He looks over at the boy who spoke - it was Winston, Keeper of the slicers. He had dark hair, with blemished bronzed skin and hard eyes. His mouth was set into a line as he gives a quick wave from where he was sitting, across from the few other slicers that they have.

Newt walks over, wringing the band around his wrist. "Not much to say; you were there," he gives a half-hearted shrug and tries to offer a smile, but it slides easily off of his face. "Alby and I decided to hold a Gathering to decide on what we're going to do."

Winston curls his nose and shoots a look at the group who sat around him, some of who offered shrugs or wary looks of their own. "What you're going to do?" he echoes, "There's _nothing_ to do. Everything's going to go to shuck now. No use tossing him in the slammer if he isn't even awake for it." Then, in an attempt of his familiar dry humour, "Well, he likely won't need much sleep afterwards when everything gets wrecked." There's an uneasy chuckle through the group of three boys, but it quickly dies off.

"Everything's okay right now," Newt replies, raising his eyebrows, feeling pinpricks of irritation rise. "There's no use in trying to decide if everything is shot now because he's here. Maybe it was a joke, or something. Why would the Creators mess this up?" He moves a hand across the Glade as emphasis. "Besides, now is not the time for this discussion. We'll have a Gathering and we can discuss it there."

Winston frowns, seemingly displeased with this verdict but nods, "Alright." He jerks his thumb over towards the firepit, "Zart is over there. You know where Frypan is, of course." He frowns, "Gally is -" he scratches at his cheek, "-he's probably sulking over by the buildings. He's ... kind of dazed about the whole thing, I think. Wouldn't say anything to me, only glared and left. Pretty shaken up, I'd wager, if it was anyone else but him. Looks nothing short of pissed, though. I'll get Frypan to talk to him, if you want. Better him than you, though, no need to get your pretty face messed up because he got a little free with his punches."

Newt's brows furrow at that comment, "Gally wouldn't hurt another Glader, even if he's gone through the Changing already." He peers at the other boy curiously, "Anyways, what about Monroe or Kris or even Vince? Have you seen them around?"

Winston frowns, "Don't know about Kris, but Monroe is probably over at the lake, and Vince is .. I don't know, doing whatever he does. Probably trying to get rid of Chuck, as usual. Find the kid, you'll likely find him." He offers a quick shrug, "I could probably talk to some of them, though, if I see them. I'll even tell them to come your way, so you know." Newt nods.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Winston leans back and frowns, "This is a klunky situation. Just hoping that the Gathering does more good than bad this time." Newt finds himself nodding in agreement, thinking back on how the last one was handled - not too well. It had been when Nick had died, and they were electing a new leader. It had been a touchy issue, and involved most of the Glade.

But there was no point in dwelling on the past, so he quickly hurries on to say, "So, I'll see you then?" Winston nods and Newt hurries off, muttering under his breath. He intends to head towards the kitchens, where Frypan is surely. He wonders if the chef even knew of the situation - he was part of the handful of Gladers who didn't bother to leave their duties to check on the Box when it arrived.

He stops abruptly when he looks up at the infirmary looming ahead and ever nearer than before, wondering how exactly he had ended up here instead. Cursing himself, he turns around, hurrying along, his feet feeling like weights as he moves away. Newt's breath catches in his throat and he feels unease wisp through him - he honestly wants to turn back around, to head back and to check up on the greenie. He should have, in fact, it would be expected of him. But there was something .. off about him. Odd in a way that set his hair on end and for a shiver to run through him, for his heart to pound in his chest and for a general sense of unease to shift through him. _He shouldn't be here,_ he thinks, but it's an odd, odd thought that plagued him, that stops him short. He had no idea why he suddenly thought that, why he felt like this.

"Bloody hell," he sighs, running the side of his hand across his brow, frowning. "What are you doing to me, greenie?"

"That's an interesting question, isn't it, Newt?" comes a sneer from somewhere to his right. Newt pivots on his heel, becoming aware of his disadvantage - obvious in the way he favoured his leg - as he looks over at the other boy who was leaning up against a tree. "Care to, I don't know, maybe tell us the answer?" The boy's scratchy voice was unamused, but there was a tilt to his words that would have otherwise worried the blond. It wasn't dark enough to tell that it was Gally who was peering over at him, eyes narrowed but not any less terrifying in the way that he seemed to be judging the blond's every move.

"I would if I could, but I don't have a clue," Newt says, carefully, frowning. A heavy sense of unease and tension settles over him, coiling his muscles. Gally was an undeniable bomb - he had the potential to go off if you lit him up, but there was always the chance of it being a dud. You always had to be careful with him nowadays.

"Right, sure seemed like it when you were talked to his shuck face," Gally protests, crossing his arms and glaring at the second in command. Newt can't help but wonder what had happened to Gally to make him this way - he had seemed fine earlier that day, when he checked the greenie's pulse and made sure that he was alive. What had changed?

Newt's eyebrows raise, and surprisingly, something in him deflates a little. He feels almost exhausted - he can't handle Gally's spouts of anger atop of the confusion he feels about the day's events. "As the second in command, it is my duty to help all the greenies."

Gally's thin eyebrows furrow down towards his eyes, a contemplating look crossing his features. "Doesn't mean you had any right to get all right up and cozy with him."

"Says the one who pulled him up and out of the Box," he points out in response. Gally recoils, considering the words and taking in a sharp breath. He doesn't verbally react, so Newt continues, "What do you have against him? And with me helping him for that matter?"

"You always helped him," comes a quiet murmur, but it's so out of place, so unusual that Newt could only send him a confused look in response. No words could detail Newt's outright puzzlement. Gally leans away from the tree, eyes widening and his mouth opening before he makes a brief choking noise, his muscled arms tightening their grip on himself and he looks almost worried, panicked for a moment. He starts to look almost purple in the face, only heightening Newt's worry, until suddenly he takes in a deep gulp of air and looks around, staring at a glint of silver that scuttles away as soon as Newt turns to look. "Just be careful, Newt. If what I remember is true ..." he pauses, his words sounding as if they've gone through a meat grinder - like he's forcing each and every syllable out through clenched teeth. "... then things are about to get very -" he makes that same gasping noise, and this time his hands fly to his face and he makes vague hand motions, but then he keels over, gasping for air and Newt shoots over to his side, hitting his back as hard as he dared.

"Gally? Shuck, Gally, do you need me to get Clint?"

Gally makes soft wheezing noises, before weakly pushing the blond away, hobbling away on uneven feet. "Doesn't matter, shank," he takes deep breaths through his teeth, eyes half-lidded. "Nothing matters anymore." He looks so utterly lost, so confused and out of place, a look of confusion morphing his features that Newt feels a pang of paternal concern, could already feel his arms reach out to pull the boy closer to him. He suddenly jerks away from Newt's touch, as if he were made from hot iron and makes a low hiss of surprise, "Nevermind. It's nothing - shuck brain is still recovering from the Changing. Ignore me, as always." His words took on a venomous tone and Newt feels his throat dry as he realizes how true they are. Most people tended to avoid Gally now, all because of the Changing.

"Okay," Newt says, quietly, softly, as if hoping to comfort him nonetheless. Gally's shoulders are shaking but he slaps away the blond's worried hands. "Hey, we're going to hold a Gathering to discuss this situation. It will ..." he pauses, looking down at his watch, checking the time. "... probably be held tomorrow, considering the time, and when Minho gets back. You can say what you want then ..." He licks his dry lips, saying the next words carefully, ".. about what you remember, too, if you want."

"Whatever," Gally says, standing upright and taking another deep breath before side-eyeing Newt distrustfully. "Just ... be careful, Newt. Don't jump to conclusions about _anything_. Don't trust everything you hear, either. _Don't trust the note._ " He looks like he's about to say something more, but instead he deflates, looking tired and worn out. "I don't know what I'm saying anymore." He sighs, running his fingers along his eyebrows before turning on his heel, but pauses. ".. I only know for a fact that I don't think I can trust you or the greenie, not yet." Newt frowns, and wonders why Gally seems so opposed to them - why he seems to frightened, so thrown out of the loop that would make him act this way, why he keeps contradicting himself, seemingly uncertain about what he wants to say or believe. Newt was getting nothing but mixed signals from this boy.

"Okay," Newt sighs, and lets the Keeper go.

It's decidedly easier to find Kris, who is sitting shirtless on a bench, dark blond hair brushed back from his forehead while he tosses a couple cards down, a wicked grin forming on his lips as he seems to be beating Leonard, a boy whose current task was undesignated, in whatever game they were playing. His face is red from the sun, not quite tan but certainly flushed in the way that made the older boy cringe in concern. "Hey, there's my favourite second in command," he whistles lowly, smiling easily as he leans over slightly, offering a two-fingered wave. "Were you looking for me?" His smile slowly slips from his face as he sees Newt's expression. "Something wrong?"

Leonard looks over, red curls of hair framing his face as he stares wide-eyed between them, seemingly speechless. "Just .. unsettled," Newt responds easily, and hurries on, because you must never admit that to someone, "It had something to do with Gally." A look of understanding crosses Kris' face and he nods, setting his hand of cards down and leaning forward, crossing his fingers beneath his chin.

"Oh," Kris frowns.

"I'll be back, I'll go see if Frypan needs help with anything," Leonard says quickly, hurriedly, getting up and hurrying away, booking it completely away from the benches and curving around the chef's open view kitchen and ducking inside.

"Did you hear about what happened today at the Box?" Newt begins, not even bothering to sit across from the Keeper of the Bricknicks. Kris nods, opening his mouth but knowing that he won't get him to slim it soon enough if he gets him going, "We're going to be holding a Gathering tomorrow about it."

Kris nods, slowly, considering before opening his mouth, uncurling his hands from beneath his chin. "Sounds good." He smiles, brushing away his chin-length hair and leaning back just a bit. "You know, I don't think that this situation is all that bad," he looks like he's about to say more but Newt stops him with a raised hand. A look of irritation flashes across his face but then he shrugs, trying to appear laid-back about it.

"As much as I appreciate it, I really have to go talk to the others Keepers and inform them of the Gathering, so I can't listen to your opinion right now," Newt says with an apologetic smile. Kris shrugs in understanding. "Have you seen Monroe and Vince?"

"Monroe is likely in the fields today, with Zart," Kris says, scratching at the back of his neck. Newt's eyebrows raise and Kris raises his hands in surrender. "Surprising, I know. He's usually at the lake, but not in the last hour or two. Vince, is with Chuck, as always. Being Keeper of the Sloppers, you kind of expect them to stick together. Even when you don't want to." He stifles his snicker and Newt nods.

"Alright, thanks. Hey, would you mind telling Frypan that -"

Kris flashes him a thumbs up. "You got it."

Newt lets out a relieved sigh, "Thanks." It's at least something off of his plate. He pinches the bridge of his nose, "I'll be talking to Zart and Monroe, then," he sighs, "so if you need me for anything."

Kris offers a mock salute as a response. "Roger that." Newt lopes away, putting pressure on his bad leg as he tries to steer himself away from the infirmary. There's no reason for him to go over there, for him to check on the boy so soon, not while Clint and Jeff are checking on him. It's with immense strength that he wills himself away, ignoring the tug and trying to focus on the task at hand. He had to talk to the Keepers, had to discuss the situation. He's almost convinced himself of this when he reaches the fields, where Newt would oft spend his time tilling the land, helping in any way that he could.

"Monroe! Zart!" he calls, and smiles, noticing the pair look over at him. Zart was tall, taller than Newt's already frightening height, stockily built with pale blond hair that seemed to have a mind of it's own. He frowns, raising a hand to his brow, before a smile breaks once he realizes who called out to them.

"Hey, Newt," he says easily. Monroe stands up from where he was crouching, dark hair pinned to his thin face, a dazed look in his green eyes and a gentle smile tugging his thin lips. He echoes Zart's sentiments.

"What's going on?" Newt asks, noticing them standing over a upturned roots and produce. Zart's expression sours at the question.

"Something's gone a bit wrong with the soil," he explains, with a shrug. "Kind of looks .. weird." Newt looks down, and even though he was trained as a trackhoe when he first arrived, he figured it looked just fine to him. Just as well that he wasn't the Keeper, then. Zart probably notices Newt's expression because he lets out a sigh. "Drier than usual; wouldn't be so bad if it rained a bit more. Not quite right for planting, kind of like it's preparing itself for autumn, but we don't get that here. That's all I'm saying." Newt shrugs, knowing that the weather had been a bit off recently, but right now that wasn't his concern. They couldn't control the weather, after all. "It's probably nothing," Zart continues with a shrug. "I'll just get a watering can and do it myself." He waves his hands dismissively, "What are you doing over here anyways?" Newt knows that's the end of a discussion when the Keeper said that.

"Right," Newt sighs, rubbing the length of his arm in slight unease. "So, there's going to be a Gathering tomorrow," he says, not bothering to beat around the bush anymore.

"You'd think," Monroe begins, smiling gently, going back down into his crouched position to shift through the soil, digging up a potato, "that because something strange happened, we'd be having a Gathering anyways. You didn't need to tell us." He bites the corner of his lip, looking up through the dark locks of his hair, "Tomorrow, I'd guess?" He peers up at the sky, where the pale yellow sun still filtered through the trees. "Am I wrong?" He sounds lost then, even more so than he usually is.

"No, no, that's the plan," he says, rubbing a hand up his face and tangling it into his hair. "You're not going to miss this one, are you, Monroe?" He sends a slightly amused look at the black coarse-haired boy, who gives a slight shrug.

"I'll try to be there, no guarantees that I'll remember," he says, setting aside a potato and picking up another one. Newt nods; it is the best that he could hope for. Monroe was one of the Gladers who was a bit more scatterbrained, whose mind wandered more and he forgot things more easily, probably due to whatever memory loss they all suffered. Newt would sometimes be sent after the long-faced boy, who would later be found picking flowers and making a crown before sweetly offering it to the blond, or Alby, or whomever was around. He was gentle and nice and honestly, Newt didn't know how he had ended up Keeper of the Baggers - at least he seemed to do his job well enough.

"Zart?"

Zart gives a rough shrug, "Yeah, sure. Can't say that I'd rather do anything else," he wipes his palms against his slacks, then peers curiously at Newt. "Have you talked to Minho, yet?" Newt shakes his head and takes a peek at his wristwatch.

"He should be coming back around sometime soon," he considers. "I'm just making my rounds, making sure that everybody knows that there's going to be a Gathering tomorrow, probably at first light or whenever is convenient."

Zart makes an agreeable noise and Monroe continues to dig through the soil, smiling slightly when he looks up at Newt. "I think he's interesting," he says, with a slight smile. "He'll be nice to talk about tomorrow, I think," he hums something then stands up, cradling the potatoes before handing them off to Zart. "Zart will remind me to go to the Gathering, won't you, Zart?" He smiles charmingly and the blond sighs loosely and rolls his eyes with a soft grumble of, 'yeah, sure'. "Don't worry, Newtie, I'm sure that everything will turn out fine," he smiles slightly before adding, "You know, next time you see him, you should bring him flowers. Everybody likes flowers when they're sick, even Ben."

"Right, thanks, Monroe," Newt says, nodding and decides that he might as well consider doing it. It might at least calm the greenie's nerves if -  _when -_ he wakes up.

"Anytime," Monroe says with a grin before looking over Newt's shoulder, where the slow grind of the Maze grabs their attention. "That's unusual," he comments, looking up into the sky, noticing the sun still above the horizon but below the treeline. Newt shrugs, and checks his watch - the Doors closing was right on time. He didn't know what Monroe was talking about and when he sent the dark haired boy an inquisitive look, he offered a slight shrug in response.

"I'll go check up on Minho, then," he says, shifting his weight on his feet before shooting the two Keepers thankful smiles. "See you two later." They chorus their goodbyes and Newt walks away, biting the corner of his lip while he considers what he's going to say to the runner. There weren't very many of them, not since Newt had his accident. He doesn't know if the Asian had forgiven him for the attempt, but now was not the time to consider any of it, because they had more pressing matters, didn't they?

The walk towards the map room sapped some of his energy, and he grew more weary with time wore on. He dreaded the Gathering tomorrow, of what Gally and Winston and the others would say, if they would toss him back down the Box or wait for him to wake up. Would they strap him down to the bed or throw him in the slammer? He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, and decides that maybe he just wants to sit down. The more he thought of it, the more the situation seemed overbearing, the more complex and familiar it got. He didn't understand one bit of it. He just wanted to be alone, without his thoughts, but it felt like they followed him everywhere, a presence in his head that he wanted to get rid of.

Maybe he could sleep the weariness away. That was a good plan, wasn't it? He removes his hands from his face, and takes a shaky step forward.  _Be careful, don't fall,_ he thinks to himself, knowing that his balance wasn't that steady. If there was an echo to his words in his head, then he didn't focus on it too much, instead deciding on keeping his head up and walking forward surely. The map room looms ahead, familiar edges presenting themselves to him, and he feels tendrils of calm seep through him. The map room was like a second home to him, where he had spent endless hours pouring over the papers, feeling like something was in his grasp but he couldn't reach it. The wood is rough beneath his hands when he pushes the door open, the smell of parchment and ink filling his nose. The panic of the situation melts away as he breaths it in.

"Minho, we have a Gathering tomorrow," he says, voice clear above the sound of pen and pencil against paper. He sees Jack and Billy, across the room, look up in surprise, confusion contorting their features. Minho looks up from his own papers, pen streaks across his face and a scowl touching his features.

"What?"

"A greenie came up, and I'll just explain everything tomorrow but you definitely have to come," he explains, resisting the urge to run his fingers along the spines of all the books and papers that lined the walls, the placement easier there than in chests. "It's pretty dramatic." He leans back, fingers itching to pull the note out, but he couldn't, not yet. "He'll... if you go to see Ben, today, you'll see the greenie."

"Woah, shank, what, you're not making any sense, what about...," his voice trails off when Newt raises his hands up in a placid manner.

"The greenie today arrived with some kind of head injury, so he's in the infirmary," he can see the darker haired boy's eyebrows raise in consideration. "He had this in his hand." He pulls the note from his pocket, the edges crumpled and the writing a little smudged at the end, but still legible. Minho's hands take it, his eyes narrowing as he inspects it.

"What?" he repeats him.

"I know," Newt says, "I know everything is messed up." His breath rushes out quickly, "So we're going to be talking about it tomorrow."

Minho's lips purse as he thinks this over. "Tomorrow?" he sighs, running a hand down his face. "Shuck, Newt, I think we're finally reaching a breakthrough and -"

"- maybe that _is_ our breakthrough?" Jack supplies, unhelpfully from where he's sitting, having seen the words scrawled across the note in sharp, bold letters. "Maybe this is a sign."

Newt finds himself nodding, "Right, as if we need a sign." He scratches at his cheek, smearing some dirt there before he hands the note back to Newt, albeit dirtier than before. "So I'm guessing you want me to show up tomorrow?"

Newt nods, curtly. "Of course. Someone has to keep Gally in line." He tries for a joke, but it seems to fall flat because Minho's expression is unamused before he sighs and nods wearily. Newt feels a bit bad, pulling that card on Minho, knowing they were some sort of friend prior to the former's changing experience.

"Fine," he points to the other runners, "all of you. Get some rest, can't have you breaking down in the Maze like some kind of baby." He turns back to his papers, his dark gaze flitting up to Newt as he breaths out a quick, "..Thanks, for letting me know, Newt. I'll see you later?"

"Right," the blond responds, quickly, but softly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Unless I find your skinny butt in my bed." He smiles wryly, and the Asian rolls his eyes, sighing quickly.

"I wouldn't get into your bed even if the Glade suddenly had snow and you were the last person in the homestead that I could warm myself up against," he says, shuffling his papers. Newt could hear Billy mutter something to another runner in the background but didn't pay too much attention to it. "Now, slim it and get out of here."

Newt lets out a breathless laugh, sighing contently before he excuses himself, saying his goodbyes quickly. It's darker outside, and the cold air feels nice on his skin, especially after pacing around the Glade, searching for all the Keepers for the Gathering tomorrow. His fingers curl around his armband, and he rakes in a quick breath of cold air, feeling it settle in his lungs and feeling far more relaxed than since the day began with the box arriving. Even with no one by his side as he made his way towards the homestead, for a well earned rest, he felt like he wasn't alone.

 _I'll figure out who you are, greenie,_ he thinks.  _Just you wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you accidentally forgot to introduce one of your own ocs. *side-eyes Vince warily*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gathering doesn't go as planned, exactly, but nothing has gone as planned lately, so Newt really shouldn't be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the "oc" here is actually a character/person from another fandom. (The ones I'm referring to are Hugo and Des.)
> 
> Also, I'm getting really pumped up for the later chapters. (Which, truthfully, will not be pretty.)

It's not like Newt had plans to actually, you know, visit the green boy in the infirmary the next day. In fact, he had never even tried to tempt the thought - the Greenie brought trouble, namely the note, and made Gally unsettled and unstable. Granted, that incident the previous day had made the second in command worried - it was like the Keeper had been trying to talk but violently choked on his words. It was peculiar. Newt almost wanted to say the same thing of the Greenie - that that convulsion had been forced on him -, but Jeff's assurance that it had been a seizure had cut that idea short, even though it was just as terrifying.

The point was, the Greenie gave them an awful 'present' so Newt wasn't particularly keen on visiting him. Still, every move across the Glade left him feeling the others' stares at his back, and unease prickled at his arms quickly. He didn't like others staring at him like this - he was used to it, sometimes, yes. Especially when some of them wanted a quick meaningless tussle behind the fort or when they wanted help with something, but not for no pointless reason.

"Is there blood on my face or am I suddenly the most attractive person in the Glade? What're you all staring at me for?" he grinds out, spinning on his heel when it becomes apparent that they weren't going to stop. He hears a quick mutter of "haha, he said water," and  _really_ \- making fun of his accent wasn't earning them any points. He crosses his arms across his chest and lets his gaze dart across the group of Gladers. "Well, what is it, shanks?"

"Wanted to know why you weren't with the Greenie," explains one of them. It's Hugo, with frizzy auburn hair and a fierce smattering of freckles across his face. There's a heavy burning along his shoulders and he seems subconsciously aware of it because he goes to pick at it. "You're the mum of the Glade," he averts his gaze nervously, "uh, so to speak. It's odd for you not to visit someone who's sick."

Newt wants to drape his face into his hands and ignore the rest of the world. "Because I don't know what I'm getting myself into." He sighs. "We have to have a Gathering before anybody is allowed to see him."

"Well, I guess the medjacks can't do their job," Hugo begins to say slyly and the fierce punch to the shoulder shuts him up quickly. "Nobody expected it, that's all. Even when _Gally_ was sick, you visited him, made sure that he had everything he needed." There's a slight tilt to his words when he says 'sick', like the word itself could act as a summoning ward for a griever. There was a concerned glint in Hugo's dark brown eyes nonetheless so Newt knows there isn't too much malice towards the hard-headed boy.

"The situation is different," Newt says through his teeth, and by the way that Hugo is looking at him, he knows the younger boy didn't believe him. Frankly, Newt didn't believe himself. Gally's words haunted him - _Don't jump to conclusions about anything. Don't trust the note._ \- and made him doubt himself. He hadn't understood why Gally would say such a thing, why he was so paranoid now. Then again, most boys who had gone through the Changing became paranoid and never once uttered why or what made them that way. In all honesty, the secrecy was pissing him off.

"I guess it is," Hugo says, doe eyes wide and considering. "Still, might want to check that he's okay. That, uh, seizure was it? That didn't look nice." He seems to shudder for emphasis, but the young boy looked actually startled so Newt nodded, if only to comfort him.

"Yeah, thanks, Hugo," Newt says with a slow smile. He appreciated what Hugo was doing in a sense; providing Newt with a "reason" to visit the Greenie, even though he never did before.

Hugo nods appreciatively and then frowns, "Could I maybe sit in on the Gathering?"

Newt laughs lowly and shakes his head. "Another time, maybe. Not today. Too much to discuss." He shoots a quick glance at his Runner's watch, staring down at it's unblinking face.  _7:31 am._ Most morning Gatherings that they had usually started well enough in the morning, so most of them were addled with drowsiness. Newt was no exception. His muscles ached slightly and his eyes burned but it's nothing that he hasn't done before. He had actually had a decent enough rest, but distant images haunted his eyelids - nothing that he could make sense of anyhow. Maybe he'd discuss it with Minho or Alby later.

"It's going to be on in an hour, so if I catch you before I start work I can debrief you on it," Newt suggests, propping his leg out and offering a quick grin at Hugo. It's nothing quite like a promise, because Newt knew how busy that they all got during the day and he wholly expects for the news to travel within a matter of moments afterwards. There are no secrets among the Gladers.

Hugo smiles appreciatively, "Thanks, Newt."

"Anytime," is the immediate response. Hugo ducks his head when he hears one of the older ones call him - a builder boy named Des, with short cut hair and a scar splitting his lip. He's one of the older Gladers, only by age and not by many other factors, he has a fierce sarcastic wit but knows his place. Him and Hugo also seem to be pretty decent friends, so Hugo makes a hasty apology and dashes off after the older boy. Newt shakes his head and quickly goes over towards the kitchens.

Frypan greets him with a disapproving look from the stovetop. "Yer hair's a mess," he tsks, but there's a fond smile on his face. Newt shrugs quickly and takes a seat at one of the tables, crossing his ankles and steepling his fingers and proppping his head atop his knuckles. He notices Monroe over at another table, smiling dreamily at his plate of warm eggs. There's Zart by his side, shoving a warm bed roll into his mouth. He looks disgruntled by something.

"Doesn't matter, does it? There's no crackin' blokes here that I'm fond of," Newt says leisurely with a slow forming grin when he turns to look back at Frypan. "There's no need to impress."

Frypan rolls his eyes quickly, "Ah, yeah, sure. Just looks like you took a roll in the hay with someone, that's all." It's Newt's turn to roll his eyes at that. Fry tosses his pan and catches the bacon that slips into it again.

"Well, I buggin' didn't. Just had a rough night, that's all," he responds, aware this his smile is slipping from his face. Fry is watching him over the steam of his pan, frowning in concern, his beard adding emphasis to that fact. Newt shifts beneath his gaze and untangles his fingers and sets them down on the table.

"Bad dream?" he asks, raising his spatula for a moment as he tosses the bacon onto a large plate. "Might want to talk to Minho about that." He pauses, dark eyes slowly sliding back up to Newt, who is watching him with an odd expression. "Or me, if you want." Newt actually considers it; Frypan is never one to kiss and tell, instead being rather sombre and a patient listener.

Newt is already shaking his head before he's aware of it, "No. It's nothing bad - just .. odd." There's impressions of the images on the back of his eyelids, but like every other dream he's had, it curls through his fingerrs like tendrils of fog. Forgotten. "I just might ask for some kind of sleeping pills next time I'm up to see Clint." Frypan is already nodding along to the statement, as if he hadn't expected otherwise. "Right, so, you just about done, old man?" he teases, and Frypan's eyes touch down on him with an unimpressed look. "We have that Gathering to go to today."

"Right." Frypan nods after a moment of consideration, "The Greenie." He waves the spatula at Newt, as if that might mean something. "So, how is he holding up? That incident yesterday looked downright nasty."

Newt frowns, "You know, I don't take it kindly that everybody seems to think that I motherhen everyone. I hadn't had time to check on him, not between sleeping and getting everyone up to date on the Gathering today."

Frypan's frown deepens into a look of concern. "Oh?" he asks, voice tilting curiously. "Yer usually the first to go. Don't trust him, or something?"

Newt is already shaking his head before Frypan had even finished the question. "No, it's not that." He thinks of the letter in his pocket, of the thickly fonted letters on the clean paper. "It's just.." Those eyes .. dark and kind of hazy due to whatever sleep they all awaken from, but it had seemed like he had  _known_ that he could trust Newt - that Newt was his best bet in the Glade. There was also something - _dark and heavy, a pressure on the back of his mind_ \- that he couldn't put his finger on the boy. "I don't know, he's just putting me off."

"What, already try'na get into his pants? Is that how he's putting ya off?" comes a voice from behind Newt. He turns and shoots the Asian who lumbers up an unimpressed look. There's a tease in the folds of his mouth, how he squints merrily at Newt and slides onto the log bench next to him.

"Sod off, mate," Newt responds quickly, slugging his friend quickly in the arm. Minho pretends to be wounded.

"I don't know why you're offended," hums Monroe from his seat a couple paces away. Newt and Minho look over, resulting in one of Newt's wrists being held captive by the shorter boy. Monroe looks up from where he's fiddling with his fork and plate of eggs. He sighs with a fond smile on his face, "He's quite easy to look at. Wouldn't be the first one, would it? You two would look good together, I'd think." He turns to Zart and affectionately pats his cheek. "You're the prettiest one, of course. Don't be offended." Zart proceeds to choke on his bread roll in surprise. Monroe only continues to hum in consideration, smiling contently as if he hadn't the slightest clue of the admissions he talked about.

Minho seems on board with this idea, "Man, t'would explain a lot." He nudges Newt and wiggles his eyebrows, "Would explain everything - I can just imagine it. The second in command and the Greenie - _that_ would be the next greatest fling since Gally and Frypan." Frypan makes a noise of objection from where he stands. Minho waved dismissively at the chef. Newt levels a steady glare at Minho, and the Asian throws his hands up quickly, although the grin is still very prominent on his face. "Just teasin', Newt. Just riling you up to see how you respond. Everybody's talkin' on how you haven't visited him yet so that theory is circulating a lot. I may or may not be fanning that fire."

Newt rolls his eyes and stands up to grab a plate from the side counter and snatched a couple things from the serving plates, of which became evident that Frypan was done cooking because he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a disapproving look on his face. "He just seems odd to me, that's all," Newt snarks, quickly, nibbling on a piece of warm potato. "I was going to visit him when you visited your boyfriend." Minho stands straighter at that, his teasing grimace fading into a softer and fonder smile.

"Yeah, that'd be after the Gathering, shank," Minho says, but he seems pleased with this revelation. Newt sits on the bench and crosses his legs, swatting at Minho's grabby hands when they strayed to his plate. "Which is fifteen minutes, so eat fast, Mr McGee."

Newt rolls his eyes and gives Frypan a quick three-fingered wave when the chef announced that he'd head to the Gathering room early. "I think he's disgruntled that you commented on his and Gally's relationship," he says, frowning around his chunk of potato.

"You mean lack of," Minho says, popping a grape into his mouth and pulling a face at the sour taste. "Fry should just give up on him, the guy is obviously shucked in the head since the Changing."

"Then what about you and Ben? That's not different at all. Shouldn't you give up on him, then?" Newt's retort comes sharp and cutting, and Minho frowns quickly. Newt shoves a bit of his food into his mouth, worried that he'd chew his own friend out on his choice of words.

"That's not what I meant. It's different with Ben and me."

"Is it, really?" Newt frowns, setting down his fork and pushing around his runny eggs. Minho's response is to nab one of Newt's pieces of toast and munch on it thoughtfully - if a bit moody - and shoot the second in command accusing glares. He forcefully smashes his bite of toast into the egg that Newt has and shove it into his mouth.

"Whatever, let's go," the Runner says, spraying crumbs before he grabs onto Newt's plate - like the gentleman he is, Newt thought sarcastically-  and set it back on the table with a fierce clatter. Monroe looks up from where he's finally started to eat and Zart looks over in worried concern, having started gathering a few loose plates and cups. "You two staying behind a bit?"

Zart nods slowly, if a bit disapprovingly, "Washing up some plates first, then we'll see you there." Monroe smiles happily and mouths his agreement around his fork. 

"Good, handle mine," Minho says, all haughty and commanding and Newt wants to smack him upside the head. He tries to shoot the Asian a telepathic look that said _'Behave'_ but Minho never listened before, so he didn't know why he bothered now.

_I am._

Newt frowns, wondering where that thought had come from. It was odd, but when he looks over at Minho, there was nothing to indicate that he had spoken. Not that it was Minho's voice to begin with, in all actuality. "Did you say something?" he asks Minho, grabbing his inner forearm but Minho's confused look was enough of an answer. "Yeah, didn't figure so."

He waves off Minho's concerned questions, slightly reluctant due to Minho's slightly sour attitude at the moment. The walk to the Gathering room was a bit tense, but they manage to get inside well enough. Alby is already there, shuffling through some very important looking documents, but his smile is easy when he looks up at them. "Hey, you two, glad you made it," he nods, "couldn't really talk about the Greenie if all of the Keepers weren't here." Newt takes a quick survey - Gally and Winston were already here. He had seen a couple of the other Gladers along the way as well, seemingly getting ready for the Gathering a well.

"Someone's missing?" Minho frowns, taking his seat from across from Newt at the round table.

Alby taps his pen against the paper that he has on the table, "Yes. Clint can't make it; he's tending to both the Greenie and Ben, and Jeff has his hands full with other things."

Newt frowns, but Gally is quick enough to voice his concerns, "Oh, yeah, sure. The guys who could give us a proper opinion on this shuck-faced Greenie can't even be here."

Alby frowns at Gally quickly, who scowls right back at him. "Don't even start this up again, Gally, I don't want to hear it," he insists and Newt feels a flash of concern - had Gally been talking with Alby about the Greenie already? Newt nudges Alby but the darker-toned boy shakes his head dismissively, mouthing that he'd tell him later. Newt doubted it, but he supposed it didn't matter if Alby already handled it.

There's some idle chatter among them, with Minho turning to speak to Gally, who looks disgruntled but fine with the distraction. Newt sees the other Keepers begin to filter in, with Monroe dazedly sitting beside Kris, who quickly props his feet up onto the table. Alby shoots him an unamused look, but doesn't scold him, knowing there was no point.

"Alright, so, Clint and Jeff are unable to attend," Alby says, writing something down. Newt looks over and notices that he's only scribbled along the paper to make it look like he was doing something, causing him to chuckle. Alby sends him a quick, amused look before he adjusts the papers. "And it looks like Vince isn't here." Newt winces, realizing that he hadn't spoken to the Keeper of the Sloppers yet.

"Maybe busy with Chuck - that boy is a handful," Kris says with a slow grin, running one of his hands through his thick hair.

Alby nods slowly. "Right, that he is," he points the pen that he's holding at each of them. "So, as you know - we're all here to discuss the Greenie. Now, we all know what's happened yesterday, especially with the note." As some of the other Keepers' confused looks - namely that of Winston and Kris, who hadn't been there at the time but knew vaguely of it - had Alby recap what happened. "So, now we're here to discuss what to do about him. Any suggestions?"

Vince suddenly bursts through the door, looking out of breath and tired. He has dark curls and pale skin. "Why wasn't I informed that there's a Gathering today?" he complains, almost out of breath. He shoots everybody accusatory looks. Newt feels shame flood through him and he purposefully avoids the other's gaze.

"Sorry, man, I forgot," Minho replies easily, noticing the slight waver to the taller boy's gaze. Vince's gaze touches down on Minho before he sighs in defeat and shakes his head.

"Yeah, whatever," he says and slips into the empty chair across from Kris, who gives him a quick wink. Vince stares at him, clearly unamused.

"It doesn't matter," Alby says good-naturedly, "We're only discussing what to do about the Greenie anyways." Vince nods before propping his head on his hands, looking disgruntled and ready to fall asleep but willing to listen. Alby surveys the group of Keepers, frowning at their silence.

When the silence stretched for a couple moments, the Keeper of the Builders leaned forward, malice in his eyes. "I think we should toss him into the pit, honestly, wounds or no wounds. I don't trust him - I  _saw_ him when I went through the Changing, so I don't trust him at all."

Newt can see Alby frown over this suggestion, but to the blond's surprise, he could see some of the other Keepers already nodding in agreement.  _This isn't going to go well at all,_ he thinks, frowning. He rubs his forehead in aggravation, feeling a headache forming.

_Doesn't sound like it._

"You can say that again," Newt hums, nodding in agreement. From his left, Winston shoots him a confused look but the blond dismisses it quickly, not caring much for it. He looks over, seeing Alby already shaking his head at Gally's suggestion.

"We're not doing that -  _or_ tossing him into the maze at night, no matter if you were just 'joking' about that suggestion, earlier," he says, making a point with each jab of his pen in Gally's direction. Gally scowls at the motion, glaring outright at him.

"I don't think that's best, no matter if we can trust him or not," Frypan suggests, carefully avoiding Gally's gaze. The dark-haired boy scowls deepens, and his eyes narrow at the chef accusingly. Newt swore that it dropped a couple degrees.

Minho leans over at that opportune moment, when Frypan and Gally's bickering picked up speed with the younger being the insitgation of a potential crisis and Fry being the mediator, trying to divert the crisis. "Looks like a lov-"

_...Where are you?_

"-ver's spat, I still don't know why Fry puts up with-"

Newt grinds his knuckles into his temple and shoots Minho a disapproving look. "I'm right here, shank," he grunts out, interrupting whatever the Asian is saying to him. Newt doesn't notice the concerned look that the Keeper is giving him, instead cupping his head in his hands when the pulsing in his head strengthens.

"Newt, you okay there, buddy?" his friend asks, hand clamping down onto Newt's shoulder and-

_"Trust us," his voice is cold, dripping with no feigned warmth. His hand is only a solid weight on his shoulder, an anchor that's weighing him down, suffocating him. "Remember, Wicked is-" -_

Newt is only jarred into consciousness when his chair hits the floor and he's sprawled across it, limbs locked in a protective stance, phantom aches bruising his body. His lungs burn, as if he hadn't been breathing. Judging by the concerned looks that they were giving him, it wasn't too farfetched. "I'm okay," he breathes out, chest stuttering as he's trying to breathe and talk at the same time. His eyes burn, and his shoulder aches where ... where ... Minho touched it. "I just lost my balance on this soddy chair, that's all." He tries to be jovial about it, tried to make it a playful jab, but he still felt that he was damp with terror sweat, his mouth full of spit and his head light.

Minho's arm curls around Newt's own well-toned bicep and pulls him up. Newt doesn't brush his friend's hands off, instad only gladly accepts his chair again when it's presented to him. Everybody is watching him through half-lidded eyes, but seem to be accepting of his excuses, before Alby clears his throat and asks Minho about his opinion.

Newt could feel Minho's shoe tap against his, the pressure comforting. "Right, well, I think Newt and I should keep an eye on him." He holds his hands up when everybody starts to protest. "Hear me out, Alby."

Alby shoots Newt an undecipherable look before he begins to nod, never once taking his eyes off of the blond. Newt pretends not to notice. Minho seems pleased by this and he continues, "I'm going to go the infirmary anyways, not gonna lie. If I'm going to check up on Ben, I might as well check up on that Greenie." He drums his fingers along the table top, "Newt and I are going to swap out our duties checking up on him, I guess. Now, because Newt was the first one - and only  one - to talk to the guy before he spazzed out. If," he shoots a slo look around the room, "or when he finally wakes up, he'd probably recognized Newt as someone familiar, as someone he can trust, that he won't freak out on us when he wakes up because he doesn't know where he is. He'll recognize Newt because the shank obviously can't help himself from helping people. Maybe we could get some answers out of him, then."

"I'm not a buggin' babysitter," Newt speaks up, voice raspier than it probably had been before the Gathering, before the - whatever it was - had grabbed a hold of him.

"You were going to anyways," Minho retorts quickly, amused but still shooting the blond concerned looks, "so what's it matter if we  _tell_ you to do it, now?"

Newt's response is to cross his arms along his chest. "Right," he says, but his voice is fonder than he thinks it is.

Winston frowns in slight objections, "It'd be just easier to toss him into the pit."

Alby is already shaking his head, "No. We're not savages. We'll not take him to the pit until after he wakes up, if he doesn't answer our questions." He points to Gally withj his index finger, "Amnd we're not putting him in the Maze at night. No. Bad idea. Don't even rile up the others to convince them of that. He might be able to help us - or get us out of this … whatever this is about."

Then, comes Vince's skeptical response, "Alright, yeah, sure. That sounds all fine and dandy, but maybe nothing is wrong? Maybe these guys - whoever they are - are just pitching us against him?" He rolls his eyes, "Then again, maybe they're trying to make us rightfully dubious of him. Like, hello, stranger danger with a note - who isn't skeptical of that, right?"

"I don't know, maybe they're just being nice and saying that he's the last guy so don't expect anybody else," Kris shrugs, leaning back and propping his hands behind his head. He offers a quick shrug, which looks awkward with how his hands are positioned.

Vince stares down at the table, "Maybe because there's nobody else _to_ send."

There's a stilted silence among the group. "Alright," Alby says, breathing through his nose in a quick exhale. He shoots Newt a look and he cocks his head just slightly. A 'come hither' motion. Newt already finds himself standing on the note of finality in Alby's voice. "With that oh so cheerful note, we should consider this meeting dispersed and reevaluate when he wakes up."

"Aye, aye, capitaine," Minho says, mockingly putting his fingers to his forehead. Alby rolls his eyes at that and everybody is quick to get to their feet. Nobody wants to consider Kris or Vince's words, which seems to swell inside the room like a dark fog. Again, Newt feels a pulsing headache at the back of his eyes. There's this thick, sluggish feeling that is threatening to overwhelm him, suffocating him. Even though Alby looks ready to steer him clear of the room, he does it himself and parades out quickly, avoiding some curious gazes.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" Alby asks, when Newt presses his side against the side of the building, raking in cold breaths of air. His lungs feel as though they're burning again, migraine blossoming fully like it did when he had heard Minho asked where he was - but was it really Minho? - and he had that odd sense of deja vu.

"Oh, yeah, I'm handling everything all nice and pretty like," Newt scoffs back, placing his head between his knees. He feels Alby's comforting hand on the back of his shirt, at the flat of his spine. "Feels like someone is putting my head through a meat grinder."

Newt already knows that Alby is frowning; he could hear it in the words he spoke, "Well, good thing that you're going to see Clint and Jeff at the infirmary, then, hm?" He waits for Newt's confirmation, but when he doesn't get one, he instead begins to rub slow circles on the blond's back. "What was that, back there? You completely zoned out and fell out of your chair - that never happens."

"Bad dream, I think," Newt says, trailing off. Alby pauses, waiting for him to continue but accepts that he doesn't.

"Right, well, if it gets worse, let me know."

"Can't having your second in command getting screwed in the head, you mean."

Alby's breath comes out almost angry, but his words are calmer than Newt expected, "Not that. You're my best friend, Newt. I worry about you." He stands up from where he had crouched beside the blond. "I can't lose you, too, not after Nick." Newt looks up from where he's tucked his head into the crook of his arms and frowns. "Newt, you have to understand something." He nods, slowly. Alby continues. "You remember when you first came up, and Nick took you under his wing?" He doesn't wait for Newt's confirmation, "You screwed up the first day as a Runner - almost got Minho killed. But Nick never blamed you, not once."

Newt nods, not knowing what else to do. He's trying to push the incident from his mind; Minho had long since forgiven him, had even insisted that there wasn't anything to forgive, and Newt had almost pushed it from his mind, but it was well enough that Alby brought it up. It was bound to happen, to remind Newt of his place here. "Nick never did, and I don't want you to blame this new guy either." Newt looks up sharply, wanting to protest. The situations were different. "Chances are, like you on your first day as a runner, this guy doesn't know what he's done either. Maybe he's helpless in this whole situation - maybe he doesn't know."

Alby pauses. "But he's alone, because everybody is pitching themselves against him. I don't have time to check up on him, not with the Glade watching me like this. Not with what everybody is expecting of me - but you're the mother of the Glade." Newt scoffs at that and Alby smiles fondly. "They expect _you_ to be on his side, and I'd like to use that to my advantage."

"Yeah? Pretend to be his friend and find out what he knows?" Newt smiles unkindly. The idea doesn't sit well with him.

Alby's gaze darkens when he turns to look at his friend, "Yes." He frowns, "You know, maybe Vince is right. Maybe we're the last of our kind - humans, I mean - so we really shouldn't be against each other like this, but fear really screws with someone, you know? Besides, if you actually become friends with him, all the better. Just find out if he's with us or against us, alright?" Newt shrugs, not really agreeing or accepting of Alby's suggestion but knowing that he can't go against the leader's words.

"Good that," Newt hums, getting to his feet, swaying a bit until the nausea passed. Talking to Alby has calmed his nerves, at least. It was nice to hear that at least  _someone_ wasn't against the Greenie entirely, aside from Monroe who wasn't really against anyone anyways. "Hey, who asked where I was?"

Alby, who had just turned to go, stops and looks at Newt in confusion. "Sorry?" he asks, his thick eyebrows pulling downwards into a skeptical and confused expression.

"Back there, during the meeting, somebody asked me where I was," Newt asks, mouth pulling downwards into a frown. Seeing Alby's confused look only caused a stone to drop in his stomach.

"That didn't happen," Alby is shaking his head, and he is quick to clasp a hand to Newt's shoulder. Newt tries to push back the sudden swamped feeling he got at the feeling of Alby's rough fingers against his clothes, how close it felt like someone else's - who, he didn't know -. "Get some rest, Newt. I think you need it," he smiles with concern, and Newt is suddenly quick to want to get away. He's losing it, he's afraid.

"And while I'm there, check up on the Greenie," Newt echoes Alby's unspoken words. The leader winces with sympathy. "Right." He almost expects an echo of pain to bloom across his temples, but his head is blissfully silent. "See you 'round, Alby," he says, not unkindly and the leader nods.

Newt shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling the note crinkle beneath his fingertips. He watches Alby walk away, presumably to do his other leader duties, and Newt can't help but wonder what he had done to get himself into this mess. But if there was one thing that he had to admit, it was that he was almost relieved to see the Greenie soon - whatever that meant. He turns and sees Gally's accusing glare, and with a mock wave, he brushes past the leader of the Builders.

Just before he steps out of hearing range, he hears Gally call after him, "Be careful around him."

But when Newt turns around to ask him what he meant, he was already gone.


End file.
